The thunder boomed
and the rain poured.
The darkness loomed
the end of life's loving cord.
The old man walked alone
shivering cold far from home.
His feet like millstones
every moment an aching throb.
Every memory
like piercing shards,
every breath
choking and toiled.
His life spent
his youth wasted.
A life lived unfulfilled
a dream forgotten
and long decayed
The love he had
and the ones he held
now far gone.
The chances and opportunities
that came his way,
the mistakes and turns
that led him
to this wretched day.
What hope is there for him now?
This old Man of sorrow
what future lies ahead of his gray misery?
This wretched relic
of a long lost hope.
What will become of this man?
what does fate have in store.
Will he die slowly,
wretchedly alone?
Or will heaven
in it's tender mercies
take him quickly,
and take him swiftly?
Will God in heaven
forgive him for his wrongs?
Or will he suffer in agony
deep in eternity.
Will he ever repent?
Forsake his selfish ambitions
and return to the light?
Or will he sink even further into the pit?
For how can a man
with no strength nor love
With no hope nor anchor
survive the tempest?
How can he prevail
through the darkness?
When his light has been
snuffed out and his hope,
all but gone.
Like a ship with no rudder
his life flickered in between the pale.
Destruction has been his destination,
from the beginning
ruin his eternal hail.
He squandered and toyed
with the priceless gifts
he had been given.
The number of opportunity's
he had missed,
out weighed by far
the ones he made.
The love of others slowly
became cold towards him,
and slowly he began to fade.
Little by little
this old man of many sorrows sunk.
Deeper and deeper into despair.
He became dead inside
a dead man walking.
A walking man without life
his heart became hardened
and his dreams faded to gray.
His vision became blurred
and now here he is on this fateful day.
And now here he is
at the end of all things,
at the finish line of his life.
He is to be found alone and miserable.
His years of neglect
have at last caught up to him,
His tempered words
Fueled by the bottom of the bottomless bottle.
His foolish actions
and careless tongue,
some words had cut to deep
some hurts never again to heal.
Deep in thought
shivering cold.
Wasted by ruin and rot
life begins to release it's hold.
The cold deepens, his heart slows.
The darkness thickness
the reaper's eyes begin to glow.
The old man takes his last breath
of ragged air.
Which for so long
he had taken for granted.
Which for so long
he scorned upon and spat.
His time has now come
his days are at an end,
his life failing fast
his pitifully few memories now useless.
For what good are memories?
when they only remind you
of the chances you could of taken.
The hearts you could of known
the love you could have shared.
Now in the midst of the storm
in the hour of his blackest darkness
The rains came and the clouds covered the stars.
The light faded
like a burn out flame
it slowly whisked away.
And the thick blanket
of fear and uncertainty hovered close.
There upon his day of death
he laid his wretched head
upon the cold hard pillow.
And sank deep into darkness
and sank he did deep into everlasting despair
And that is how the story goes
The story of an old man filled with deep regret
painful memory's and eternal burning sorrows
The old Man, who lived a life for himself.
The old Man who lived alone,
and who died alone.
Thus ends the tale of the lonely Man of Sorrows.
